


limerence

by toumei



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Excessive use of italics, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Male Bonding, Masturbation, Mental Breakdown, Nightmares, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Attraction, Sleep Deprivation, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, a lot of ogling, biromantic homosexuality, character with anxiety, if u wanna get specific, mentions s3 episodes, more to be added - Freeform, multiple crushes, takes place at the o'neil farmhouse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toumei/pseuds/toumei
Summary: in which Donnie can't keep his heart under control, and he and Casey both spend too much time in that damn barn.set during s3 farmhouse arc





	1. so it starts

**Author's Note:**

> tmnt2k12 fanfic? in 2018? from someone who hasn't posted anything in four (4) years? idk either pal
> 
> uhhhhh for real tho i've spent the past 2 months writing this and it was originally supposed to be a short 3k word chronology of their relationship developing and then. then it was 20k words and counting and i have no idea when i'm going to stop
> 
> so i have a lot more of this shit lined up ready to go if i actually remember to post it
> 
> yikes

It all starts in the barn.   
  
That _fucking_ barn.   
  
It's three in the morning, and Donatello hasn't slept since... Wednesday? Thursday? It doesn't matter, because it's Saturday now, and he still has no intention of quitting until his brain literally _melts_ out of his skull. His entire body is begging him to just _go to fucking sleep,_ but he ignores its pleas in favor of flipping through his notebook, searching for a clean page to scribble on. Or just one with any empty space at all; he'll take what he can get at this point. His notes have never been -- and never will be -- very organized.   
  
The dreams are getting worse. Ever since the run in with the dream beavers, nearly every night he dreams of falling, or drowning, or being chased until his lungs burst, and every time, he wakes up, gasping for breath, heart pumping and hands shaking.   
  
But now he's started dreaming of his brothers, of April, of Casey -- being just out of reach, or pulled off into somewhere Donnie can't breathe, can't follow. And now he wakes up crying instead.  
  
He presses two fingers to his eyes and rubs rather aggressively -- _just stop with the burning, will you?_ \-- popping open yet _another_ energy drink with his free hand. They're god awful, but he's out of coffee until April goes to the store on Monday, so he'll deal with the acrid substance until then.   
  
He downs half the can, setting it back on his desk and continuing to ruffle through the notebook in front of him.   
  
"Tastes like carbonated gasoline," he mumbles to himself. Speaking of gasoline, he needs to find a more secure way to store the mutagenic fuel Speed Demon left behind. He doesn't need any more mutant chickens on his hands.   
  
As he rustles through the loose beakers and glass jars he keeps in one of his desk drawers, he hears the barn door abruptly swing open, and he nearly has a heart attack before he sees who it is.   
  
"You scared the hell out of me, Jones!" he snaps, glaring at the teen as he closes the door behind himself. "What are you doing up?"  
  
"Sorry man," he half-asses. "An' I couldn't sleep, so I saw the lights on in here and decided to come spend some time with my _new bestie."_ Donnie raises a brow at the smug grin on Casey's face, thoroughly unimpressed by the other boy's sarcasm. He grabs a jar.   
  
"Uh huh. Right. And by 'spending time', you really mean annoying me while I try to work, correct?" Casey's grin widens.  
  
"Maybe." Donnie frowns, turning back to his jars.   
  
"Go to bed, Jones," he sighs. "And I'm not your bestie." In his peripheral, he sees Casey raise his hands defensively.   
  
"Whatev, Don." To Donnie's dismay, he enters farther into the barn, making his way over to the hot rod. Donnie swivels back so he's facing his desk again, away from Casey, and pops the lid off of his chosen jar. Should be secure enough to keep out any nosy critters.    
  
He transfers the gasoline from the first container to the second, taking caution as not to spill any. He seals the jar tightly, and quickly but carefully makes a new label, trashing the old one.   
  
"That should be good," he says to himself, standing to place the fuel on a high, out of reach shelf to _(hopefully)_ avoid any future incidents.   
  
He closes his eyes tightly as he sits back down, attempting to blink away the dryness that's been plaguing him for hours. He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath to invigorate and motivate himself. He needs to get back to work.   
  
"Yo Dee, I didn't know you could draw!" Donnie's eyes snap open, and he jerks his head to the right, his heart jumping in his chest. Casey's sudden appearance at his side startled him, though he's more concerned about the fact that Casey has invited himself to look through his notebook.   
  
"Hey, give that back!" He tries to snatch the book away from him, but Casey, being the insufferable _asshole_ that he is, yanks it out of Donnie's reach. Donnie growls, making another attempt, which heeds the same result. "Seriously, Casey."  
  
"I'm just lookin' at the pictures! Relax, bro." The human examines the current page further, brows furrowing. "Besides, this is in like six different languages; I wouldn't be able to read it even if I tried." Donnie purses his lips, reaching for the book again. Casey barely has to try when he moves it from Donnie's grasp, snickering as he does so. "Dude, just lemme look at it! Your art's dope." The turtle rolls his eyes.   
  
"It is not 'dope'. It's just stupid sketches. Now give it back."   
  
"If they're so stupid then what's the big deal about me lookin' at 'em?"   
  
Donnie folds his arms, staring Casey dead in the eye. He lets out a defeated sigh.   
  
"Fine, Jones. Whatever." Casey grins victoriously, opening the book back up and rifling through the pages. Donnie tries to ignore him, but instead finds himself watching anxiously as the other boy flips over another page.   
  
"What's this thing?" Casey turns the book around, pointing at a drawing with arrows and equations littered around it.   
  
"That's an Erlenmeyer flask," he responds matter of factly. "I'm guessing you flunked high school chemistry?"  
  
"Nah actually; got a C," Casey replies, turning the book back towards himself and continuing his self-guided tour. "It was sophomore year though, so I don't really remember. Especially not somethin' with a long, fancy name like Earlmeyer."  
  
_"Erlenmeyer."_ __  
  
"Whatever. How 'bout this?" He flips the book around again.   
  
"Early concept designs for Metalhead." Casey meets him with a blink and a blank stare. "My robot?"   
  
"Like a Kraangdroid?"   
  
"No, not like a Kraangdroid. Though I did use a decent amount of Kraang tech to build him." Casey's eyes widen.   
  
"Dude, you built your own _robot?_ That's so freakin' cool!" Casey grins. "Or should I say _metal?"_ Donnie sighs, cringing at the pun as Casey cackles at his own joke.   
  
"I'm revoking your privileges. Give me the book back." Casey pulls it away, continuing to giggle as he does so.   
  
"I'm only on like the tenth page, dude!" he exclaims, and Donnie can't fathom why Casey would want to look through his notes. Was he looking for something embarrassing to make fun of him for? Probably, but Donnie doesn't have the energy to care much.   
  
"Ugh, fine. I don't know what you're getting out of this, but fine."   
  
"I said it before, man, your drawins' are cool. I draw too, and artist to artist, I think you're actually pretty good." He pauses. _"Surprisingly."_ Donnie chuckles, leaning back in his seat.  
  
"Couldn't just give a turtle a compliment, could ya?"   
  
"C'mon, Don. You know me well enough to know I don't give out compliments for free." Donnie smiles amusedly.   
  
"Not even for your _bestie?"_ he mocks, and Casey grins.   
  
"Not as long as it's you," he laughs, and Donnie joins him. It's surprisingly enjoyable, just bantering with Casey like this. No malice, only playful teasing and genuine _getting along._  
  
Casey goes back to looking through the filled-to-the-brim notebook, asking questions about virtually every sketch he sees. Donnie enjoys being able to talk about his work freely, without the nagging feeling of being an annoyance.   
  
"Yo..." Casey says after a bit, startling Donnie out of a trance he didn't even know he'd fallen into. "Is this... me?" He sounds shocked. He shows him the book, and Donnie raises a brow.   
  
"I dunno, Casey, is it?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're your own biggest fan after all; I'd expect you to be able to recognize a picture of yourself." Casey sticks his tongue out.   
  
"Shut up, dude! 'Scuse me for bein' surprised you of all people has got drawins' of me." Donnie laughs, leaning in to take a closer look at the sketch. He has a very vague memory of drawing it; he must have been in a similar, sleep deprived state when he did it. He skims the notes scattered around the page.  
  
"Oh, I remember this," he lies. "I was working on armor upgrades for you, since you're frail."   
  
"Hey! I am not frail!" Casey exclaims, punching Donnie in the shoulder as if to prove his point. "Hockey players are some of the toughest people on the planet."  
  
"Mhm, right, and how tall are you?"   
  
"Six one."  
  
"And how much do you weigh?"  
  
"One-forty."  
  
"Uh huh. You're frail." Casey growls in aggravation, but the light and playfulness behind is eyes remains.   
  
"I'll show you who's frail!" he shouts, a devious grin on his face, and next thing Donnie knows, he's being tackled to the ground, his chair going down with him.   
  
"Casey!" he yells, but before he knows it, they're wrestling around on the ground, hay crunching underneath them as they quarrel. Donnie gets the wind knocked out of him, but it's worth it to put Casey in a headlock.   
  
"C'mon, Jones, is that all you've got?" he taunts, a smug grin on his face as he holds the other boy tightly in place with his legs, his right arm wrapping around Casey's neck in a choke hold. Casey repeatedly tries to elbow him in the stomach, but Donnie barely feels a thing.   
  
Casey struggles against the turtle's grip, but Donnie just holds him in place with more resolve, determined to put Jones in his place for once. But Casey manages to pinch him -- _hard_ \-- on the sensitive part of his thigh, and in the moment Donnie lets up his grip, he wriggles free, and Donnie is being tackled to the ground again.   
  
"Nope," he says, all kinds of smug, as he presses an arm across Donnie's shoulders, holding the turtle's dominant arm down with his foot. Donnie grimaces as the sole of Casey's shoe causes his skin to twist painfully.   
  
"Okay -- ow! I give, I give, that hurts!" Casey moves off of him, and Donnie sits up, rubbing his arm where the skin burns.   
  
"Who's frail now, punk?" Casey mocks, _infuriatingly_ smug, and Donnie rolls his eyes.  
  
"Still you, _punk."_   
  
Donnie stands, dusting strands of hay off of himself as he does. He thinks he's allergic to the stuff; his eyes are burning far worse now than they were before, but he ignores it, making his way back to his chair and sitting down heavily. He pulls his notebook back to himself, flipping to one of the last clean pages and beginning to scribble down notes. He's not entirely sure what he's writing, but it's in kanji, so Casey won't be able to read it if he tries.   
  
"Hey man, when’s the last time you slept?" Donnie sets his pencil down, swiveling to face Casey. He heaves a deep sigh.   
  
"I dunno, a few days ago? Why?"  
  
"Well, I dunno if it's somethin' you usually do, but you're writing with the book upside down." He looks at the book, then back at Casey. He's not sure when, but at some point his head has started pounding, and he's suddenly seeing spots. He presses his fingers to his temples in an attempt to subdue the throbbing in his skull. Somewhere in the distance, he hears Casey ask, "You good?"   
  
He pulls himself back to reality, blinking away the spots and focusing back on Casey's face. He looks worried.   
  
"Concerned for me, Jones?" he asks, smirking. Casey folds his arms.   
  
"Why wouldn't I be? You're literally about to pass the fuck out. You need to go to bed, Don. Seriously."  
  
"I don't need to do anything," Donnie snipes. He crosses his arms. "And I certainly don't need to listen to _you."_ Casey's expression turns from concerned to bitter, and the turtle can sense that he's said the wrong thing, and braces for an outburst.   
  
"What's your problem, huh? The minute I think we're actually getting along, you start actin' all bitchy again! I don't get it!" Donnie narrows his eyes as Casey leans closer to him, his dark brows furrowed in anger. "Do you wanna be friends or not? Just give me a fuckin' answer, man!" Donnie growls, glaring hard at Casey, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.   
  
"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be a jerk." The shock on Casey's face at the apology is priceless, but Donnie overlooks it in favor of trying to salvage any bond they may have been forming. "I'm just exhausted."  
  
"Then go to sleep, dude!" Casey exclaims, backing out of Donnie's face. He shakes his head.   
  
"I've been having... nightmares. Bad ones. And I don't want to talk about it, but... I don't want to go to sleep, either." He feels his chest tighten.   
  
"Well, I mean, that sucks and all, an' I know what it's like, but you can't just not sleep, dude."   
  
"See, that's not true, though, because Bernie stayed awake for forty years, so I'll just do the --"  
  
"Donnie. You saw that guy. Do you _really_ wanna end up like him? The man looked like a walking corpse!" Donnie snorts. "Just go to sleep. Come on, Dee. I'll make you tea?"   
  
Donnie weighs his options. He could stay awake and continue to feel absolutely awful, but avoid having to deal with his nightmares and the panic attacks that followed. Or, he could go to sleep, risk having the dreams, but feel at least slightly better. To him, staying awake seemed like the obvious option, but as he looks at Casey, who's giving him those _goddamn_ hopeful puppy dog eyes -- the ones that, as much as Donnie hates to admit it, he can barely resist -- he gives in.   
  
"Ugh, fine. But please, for the love of all that is holy, __please don't make the tea in the microwave like you usually do, or I swear I'll have a stroke." Casey smiles and laughs, standing up and making his way to the barn doors, waiting for Donnie to follow. The soft smile he has on his face leaves Donnie with a weirdly familiar feeling in his gut as he turns off his desk lamp.

And so it starts. In that  _ fucking  _ barn.


	2. in feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donnie can pinpoint the exact moment something switched; the exact moment when his feelings towards his friend switched from liking to LIKING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ao3 it's 2018 why can we still not put italics in summaries

Donatello wakes up mortified.    
  
He has a crush on Casey Jones.    
  
He can pinpoint the exact moment something switched; the exact moment when his feelings towards his friend went from liking to  _ liking.  _   
  
"You prefer regular or vanilla?" Casey asks, rifling through the packets of tea they keep in a box under the microwave.    
  
"Regular," Donnie answers, sitting down at the kitchen table and tapping his fingers lightly against the wood. He doesn't remember the last time he actually drank tea; he's been an avid coffee drinker ever since he discovered the stuff. It's not that he even likes the way it tastes -- frankly, he thinks it's rather bitter -- but it helps him make it through the day.    
  
"You got it." Donnie watches as Casey fills the kettle with water -- catering to the turtle's request, thank the lord -- and sets it on the stove to boil.    
  
"So," the teen slides into the seat next to Donnie, turning it so that they face each other, "I know you said you didn't want to talk about it, an' I respect that, but I'm here to listen if you change your mind or anything." Donnie looks at him. He takes a deep breath before looking away.    
  
"I just -- I feel so useless all the time." He sighs. "Everyone can do everything better than I can. The only thing I even bring to this team is my mind, and most of the time I don't even feel like that's helpful." Donnie swallows, fighting back the lump in his throat. "But at the same time, I feel like no one appreciates anything I do for them! Without all the shit I make, we'd have died a hundred times over by now! It's just... ugh. I dunno."    
  
His shoulders slump, and he chances a glance at Casey. The teen is leaning back in his chair, arms folded as he listens. He says nothing, and Donnie feels anxiety crawl up his skin as he looks away again.    
  
"I'm being ridiculous."   
  
"You're not." Donnie looks back at him.    
  
"You don't think so?" Casey shakes his head, sighing.    
  
"Look man, I don't -- I can't -- I'm not good at offerin' advice an' stuff. And I've never really dealt with that stuff before. Feelin' down about yourself and shit. But like I said, I'm here to listen, so you can just vent to me if ya want."    
  
And that's just what Donnie does. He talks about his nightmares, his feelings, his insecurities. He talks about his panic attacks, growing ever more frequent as the days go on. It's odd, having the first person he's really opened up to in years be the same person he'd hated up until only a few days prior.    
  
He talks until the kettle lets out a shrill screech, and Casey stands up to turn off the stove.    
  
"That really sucks, man. But hey." He pours a mug for Donnie, and one for himself, placing a tea bag in each. He sits back down at the table, sliding the mug in his right hand over to the turtle. "They're just dreams."   
  
"That's what I used to tell myself before some freaky beavers tried to suck out my life force in my sleep." He brings the tea to his lips, sipping gingerly. It's scorching, undrinkable, so he sets it back on the table, wrapping his hands around the mug. "Now I'm afraid that every time I go to sleep some new monsters are gonna try to kill me."    
  
"Well, yeah, but isn't that your waking life too?" Donnie frowns, considering.    
  
"That's... true, actually. You're right." Casey grins.    
  
"I know! Ever since I met you guys, crazy shit hasn't  _ stopped _ happening. My life is so much more interesting!" Donnie gives a small smile, and Casey clears his throat. "Anyway, what I'm sayin' is: you've got nothin' to be afraid of, Don. Your brothers are gonna be there for you whether you're awake or asleep -- any time, anywhere. So's April. So am I."   
  
Donnie looks up, and the smile on Casey's face is the turning point.    
  
He can't control the blush that rises on his cheeks, or the butterflies in his chest, or the rapid beating of his heart. He knows this  _ fucking _ feeling.    
  
"I-I -- thank you," is all he's able to stammer out. He looks down into the deep, hazel colored liquid that swirls within his mug. The reflection of the dim kitchen light looks back.    
  
They sit in silence for a while. Donnie listens to the soft warbling of the first cicadas of the season; the calm chirps of crickets in the stagnant night air. A feeling of serenity comes over him, and he takes a deep breath as he sips his tea.    
  
"Y'know, you never answered my question." Donnie looks up, confused. "Back in the barn."   
  
"What question?"    
  
"Y'know... whether you wanna be friends. Or not." Casey rubs the back of his neck; he seems... nervous? Donnie lets out a small huff of laughter.    
  
"Dude. You just listened to me spill my guts for ten minutes." He chuckles. "Of course I wanna be friends." Casey breaks into an enormous grin.    
  
"Sweet! Took long enough." Donnie smiles, downing the rest of his tea and standing.    
  
"Thanks, Casey. For everything." He feels heat rise up his face again, and he scratches his neck nervously.    
  
"No prob, dude," Casey says, throwing his legs up onto Donnie's now vacant seat. "Anything for a friend."    
  
And so Donatello wakes up, his mind empty except for thoughts of Casey  _ fucking _ Jones. 

 

\---

 

At dinner (he slept through the entire day, and he's astounded by how much better fourteen hours of sleep can make one feel) he avoids any and all contact with Casey -- physical, eye, or otherwise. When Casey's not looking, though, well, Donnie can't stop staring.    
  
Everything Donnie once found repulsive, frustrating, infuriating -- he now finds endearing. Casey's crooked, self-absorbed, boisterous smile? It makes Donnie's heart flutter. His loud, obnoxious laugh? It's the reason for all of Donnie's smiles that night.    
  
He catches Casey looking at him a few times from his spot across the room, a quizzical expression on his dumb, stupid, perfect face. Every time, Donnie's cheeks burn, and he stares holes straight through the floor.    
  
"Everything okay, Dee?" April asks, keeping her voice low from her spot on the couch, right at Donnie's side. April's empathic abilities have been expanding along with her psychic ones, and it doesn't help that she's naturally intuitive. Donnie realizes that he's doing an ass poor job of acting casual, but no one else has seemed to notice, so he chalks April's question up to purely otherworldly capabilities, which, frankly, is just  _ unfair.  _   
  
"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine." He suspects that he doesn't sound particularly convincing, his suspicion all but confirmed by the confused quirk of April's eyebrows. "Really."   
  
"If you say so." She turns her attention back to the television, and Donnie does the same, though his eyes momentarily stray to Casey, head thrown back in an insufferably _ (adorably)  _ loud laugh.    
  
Donatello had it bad. 

 

\--- 

 

"Soooooooo."

  
Donnie looks at Mikey, who's just entered the kitchen, where Donnie is washing grease and motor oil from hands.    
  
"What, Mikey?" he asks, already exasperated. His little brother has that look on his face -- the one that radiates curiosity and mischief -- and Donnie already knows that whatever Mikey has come to talk to him about is either going to have to do with Crognard, or something equally as irrelevant.    
  
"Are you over April or somethin'?" Donnie raises a brow, confused and surprised at the question.    
  
"No? Why do you ask?" Mikey slides into one of the seats at the round kitchen table, immediately beginning to bounce his leg, a habit he's picked up from years of being unable to sit still.   
  
"Well, it just seems like you've kinda got a thing for Casey now, bro." Donnie freezes. He feels something between smoldering embarrassment and frigid mortification bloom in his chest, and he turns off the faucet, grabbing the rag hanging from the cabinet next to the sink and drying his hands with it.    
  
"I-I don't know what you're talking about." He curses how obvious his lie is, how tight and uncomfortable his voice sounds.    
  
"Come  _ onnnn,  _ dude! You were lookin' at him and blushin' like a mom in a makeup store all  _ night _ last night." And he curses how annoyingly perceptive Mikey can be about the absolute worst things. He turns to face his brother.    
  
"Okay, first off, that's not an expression. You made that up."   
  
"Yeah it is, y'know, because moms wear blush on their cheeks. It's a kinda makeup, dude," Mikey says as if he's teaching Donnie something, and Donnie is astonished by how simultaneously smart and dense a single individual can be.    
  
"Mikey -- y'know what, never mind." There's no point in trying to convince him that he's wrong; he'll just keep citing more and more increasingly ridiculous sources until Donnie gives up.    
  
"So you admit I'm right?" Donnie frowns.   
  
"Yes, it's absolutely a saying that I've heard -- "   
  
"No, no, no, Donnie, I mean about you liking Casey!" His eyes narrow. "Are you two-timin'? 'Cause if you are, that's not cool -- "   
  
"What? No! You can't two-time people you're not dating." The horribly icy-hot feeling is back in his chest, because fuck, how is he supposed to lie his way out of this one?    
  
"I'm still not hearing a denial about the  _ liking de la Casey." _ Donnie sighs at the butchering of the Spanish language, resisting the strong urge to correct his brother (Casey is  _ masculine, _ therefore it would be _ 'del'  _ and not _ 'de la', _ but that's besides the point) and instead nervously twiddles his fingers.    
  
"How'd you know?" he asks quietly, and Mikey rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.    
  
"Dude, it's like, crystal  _ clear!  _ Like I said, you looked at him like a bazillion times last night, an' you had your signature 'April ogling' face every time ya did!" Donnie flushes as Mikey uses air quotes around his words, and his younger brother puts his forefinger and thumb to his chin in thought. "I think I'm the only one who noticed, though. Jeez, everyone else is so  _ obvious _ all the time."   
  
_ "Oblivious?" _ Donnie can't help himself this time as he blurts out the correction. "You mean  _ oblivious?" _ Mikey shrugs.    
  
"Maybe." He hops up from his chair, sitting on the counter instead. "So what're you gonna do?" Donnie sighs, putting his face in his hands for a moment before looking back at his brother.    
  
"I have no idea."    


 

\---

 

Donatello never thought it was going to be easy, but god _ damn _ is it harder than he expected. 

Dealing with not one, but  _ two _ unrequited crushes is -- well, it's the worst, to put it frankly. The absolute  _ worst.  _ It seems like there's not a room he can walk into without feeling awkward and sweaty; his heart jumping in his chest every time one of his human friends gets too close. The barn isn't safe either -- he can't be alone there for more than ten minutes before Casey comes barging in, either spouting out ideas he has that are impossible to achieve (he's a dreamer, and Donnie realizes that he likes that), or ranting about something Raph has done, kicking empty cans and throwing socket wrenches.    
  
"You're gonna break something," Donnie says flatly one day, not looking up from his project as Casey goes on yet another tirade, punching walls and throwing bales of hay. "Whether it's yourself or something else, I guess we'll see." Casey stops, gets the joke, and starts to laugh -- a miracle sound that makes Donnie's face burn and his stomach tie in knots. He prays to whatever god will listen that Casey doesn't notice.   
  
With nowhere else to go, he turns to the woods for an escape.    
  
He doesn't particularly like the woods -- he's much more comfortable indoors, in a place he's familiar with. Out in the woods, everything looks the same, and he's so afraid of getting lost that he brings an old compass with him, just in case his phone dies and he does find himself stranded in the wilderness.    
  
He's never been in the woods alone before; especially at dusk, when the trees cast shadows that even the bravest person would see monsters in. And Donnie will admit -- he’s not brave. At least, not as brave as he'd like to be.    
  
He looks up through the thin veil of leaves, squinting at the deep orange of the sun as it begins to sink below the horizon. Birds twitter, frogs croak, and somewhere in the distance he hears water running over smooth, worn stone. It's surprisingly pleasant in the forest, he realizes, at least when he's not being chased by a lovesick cryptid or an overly aggressive older brother.    
  
Donnie finds himself in a small clearing, the ground covered in soft grass and moss, a bird's nest in one of the trees. He doesn't see anything in it, but it makes him smile nonetheless.    
  
He sits under the tree and sets his staff down beside him, pulling his notebook out of the small satchel he brought with him. The dying sunlight warms his skin as he clicks his pen, beginning to sketch on the last empty page he has left.    
  
Despite how far he is from the house, he hears Casey's joyful laugh carry over on the breeze, and he smiles fondly before hitting himself in the head with his book.    
  
He's such a fucking  _ idiot.  _ __  
  
Why did think coming out here would help? Being alone with his thoughts is almost as bad -- if not worse -- than actually being around the object of his affections. Well,  __ objects, but he's become incredibly preoccupied with his newfound feelings for Casey. At least at the house, he can talk to him, banter with him -- out here in the woods, all he can do is daydream about things that'll never happen, scenarios that'll never occur.    
  
But Donnie's chest feels like soda pop, bubbling and sparkling, and he all but giggles into the pages of his notebook, a giddy smile on his face.    
  
He's just a boy with a crush. He can live with that for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's corny but. i'm a sucker for corny shit


	3. heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it is absolutely, swelteringly hot outside, but Leo insists on having them train in the yard anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donnie has it extremely bad. someone help him
> 
> this chapter is suuuuuper short and it's not very good but. here it is anyway

It is absolutely, swelteringly hot outside, but Leo insists on having them train in the yard anyway. No one is happy about it -- especially not Casey.   
  
"This is racism!" Casey shouts, throwing his goalie stick down on the ground. "You guys don't have to wear clothes! It's totally unfair!"   
  
Donnie snorts in laughter at the ridiculous accusations. He catches his younger brother shoot him a look -- one that borders on mischievous -- from his spot beside him, but by the time he returns it, Mikey has moved on to other things.   
  
One of those things, apparently, being to torture Donnie.    
  
"Just take your shirt off, bro!" Mikey suggests. The group stares at him blankly, and Donnie elbows him pointedly in the stomach. "Ow! What?" he asks, shrugging. "Humans can do that."    
  
Donnie feels whole body stiffen and his face heat up at the idea of seeing Casey shirtless. He grinds his teeth, grabbing Mikey by the tails of his mask and dragging him away from the rest of the group.    
  
"Ow, Dee, what's your problem? Lemme go!"    
  
"What's  _ my _ problem? What's  _ your _ problem, shellbrain?" he hisses, glaring daggers at Mikey. "You're gonna ruin everything!"   
  
"I'm helpin' you, dude!" Donnie gives him a helpless expression, grabbing him by the shoulders.    
  
"In what world is telling the guy I like to strip  _ helping _ me?" His voice is pleading, desperate, and he presses his forehead defeatedly against Mikey's plastron. "Oh god, I am so screwed."    
  
"Donnie, Mikey, get over here!" Raph's gruff voice startles Donnie out of his misery, and Mikey pushes him off of his chest, heading back over to the group.    
  
"Let's do this!" Donnie looks up at the sound of Casey's voice, nearly choking on his own spit when he sees that Casey has indeed followed Mikey's advice, his chest completely exposed, baseball bat slung lazily over his shoulders. Donnie swallows.   
  
So,  _ so _ screwed. 

  
  
\---

  
  
Casey's jeans sit low on his waist, his boxers peeking up above the belt line. They're red plaid, not that Donnie  _ cares _ or anything.    
  
He makes up an excuse to sit out the first round -- partially to regain his emotional footing, and partially to just ogle Casey from afar.    
  
_ God, _ that sounds creepy. To admire him? Watch him? That's not better, fuck.   
  
Donnie leans against the tree, already sweating even though he has yet to actually participate. Intense embarrassment is quite the catalyst for perspiration, he's come to realize.    
  
He watches Casey parry a blow from Leo, rolling out of the way of another from Raph, before charging back in, a wild look in his eyes and a maniacal grin on his face. His hair's already become a mess (though it really always is), his bandana doing little to keep it out of his face.    
  
A few minutes in, Casey takes a step back, a sheen of sweat on his shoulders, his chest heaving as he pushes his hair out of his eyes, and he looks so goddamn  _ perfect _ that Donnie swears he's going to have a heart palpitation.    
  
Casey's eyes meet his, and Donnie hopes that his staring isn't as obvious as he thinks it is. Casey smirks at him, beckoning him over for a fight, and Donnie swallows, walking towards him, trying not to let his eyes stray to Casey's chest; trying to ignore the way his ribs are slightly visible under his skin, or the way his hips dip into a V, or the thin, dark happy trail that disappears beneath his waistband.    
  
He's going to fucking  _ kill _ Mikey.    



	4. like a mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He misses his home. He misses his bed, his lab, his sensei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this one while i was feeling Angsty, so here's some boys supporting each other emotionally
> 
> .......they're not great at it, but they're trying

They're rained in, and the house is beyond just 'too cramped.' Donatello feels as though wherever he goes, someone is waiting, either shouting about how unfair a video game is, or eating too loudly, or literally  _ wrestling _ around on the floor.   
  
Six teenagers trapped inside during a  _ three day storm _ (who even knew those happened in upstate New York?) turns everyone into caged animals, and holy shit, is it absolutely  _ not _ something Donnie can deal with.    
  
He holes himself up in his room, and though he can still hear the ruckus from downstairs, the distance is an enormous weight off his chest. He loves his brothers, and he loves his friends, but he's not ashamed to admit that there's no way he can spend three straight days in the same room as them.    
  
His alarm clock chimes, and he looks up from his laptop. There's something wrong with that thing; it's been going off at random times throughout the day, and he can't stand its incessant ringing anymore. He sets his computer off to the side, grabbing the clock from his nightstand and beginning to take it apart. It's ancient -- one of the oldest he's seen, and the one he has back at the lair is nearly the same age as dirt.    
  
The lair. He misses his home. He misses his bed, his lab, his sensei. His father. Donnie feels his chest tighten, and he swallows hard, turning his focus to the disassembled alarm clock in front of him. Now, what's the problem, what's causing the malfunction --   
  
His eyes are burning, and he can't focus, because he's crying, fucking  _ crying, _ like a  _ mess. _ He pushes his mask up to avoid dampening the fabric, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Folding his legs in front of him, he rests his elbows on his knees as the tension in his chest releases in a sob, and his throat constricts until another tears from him.    
  
Donnie sits for what feels like forever, letting his frustrations escape him. At least, until he hears a knock at his door.    
  
He panics, quickly rubbing at his eyes, pulling his mask back down and scrambling to grab his laptop to return to whatever he had been doing prior to his emotional outburst.    
  
"Yeah?" he calls, his voice raspy, and he curses internally, clearing his throat. "What is it?" The door creaks open, and Casey pokes his head into the room.   
  
"Yo Don, I'm lookin' for my phone, ya seen it?" Donnie raises a brow.    
  
"Why would  _ your _ phone be in  _ my _ room?" he asks. Casey shrugs.   
  
"Just wonderin'. Why you sittin' here in the dark?" He opens the door further, flipping on the lights, and Donnie blinks as his eyes adjust to the abrupt change.    
  
"Jeez Casey, warn a guy next time."    
  
"Sorry, dude." He pauses, looking over Donnie's face. "Hey, you okay?"    
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah." Donnie sniffs, choking up, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "I'm fine." Casey's expression turns from curiosity to concern, and he steps completely into the room, closing the door behind him.    
  
"What happened?" he asks, seeing directly through Donnie, though honestly, what was there to see through? Donnie's 'facade' was like trying to hide something from sight using seran wrap.    
  
"Nothing; I'm fine," he lies regardless. He clears his throat again, looking at his laptop screen to avoid eye contact with Casey. "Really. You can go."   
  
"I'm not goin' anywhere till ya talk," Casey says, and Donnie looks at him, standing there with his arms folded, a determined expression on his face. He sighs.    
  
"I miss home, okay? Jeez." His voice breaks, and he clenches his teeth as he tries -- and fails -- to bite back a sob, tears springing back into his eyes. He covers his mouth, shaking hard as he cries. "A lot."    
  
"Oh,  _ oh,  _ oh my god, okay." Casey voice softens, sounds worried, and next thing Donnie knows, his computer is being removed from his lap -- "I'll just, um, move this." -- and Casey is sitting next to him on his bed, facing him with a lost expression on his face. "Okay, um, it's okay, it's alright, Donnie, just try to breathe, everything's fine." But Donnie can barely do that, sucking in useless air as he hyperventilates, crying harder and harder as Casey sits next to him, trying to calm him down. Donnie knows that Casey is way,  _ way  _ out of his element here, but he appreciates the effort anyway.    
  
He pushes his mask back up, covering his eyes. His chest aches, and he covers his face with his hands.   
  
"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry," he sobs, gasping for breath. He feels Casey put a hand on his shoulder, and embarrassment overtakes him. A giggle rises in his throat, and suddenly he's laughing, fucking  _ laughing,  _ and he wipes his eyes, taking a deep breath and looking at Casey.    
  
Casey's not the brightest bulb in the box (though he _is_  much more intelligent than Donnie initially gave him credit for, but that's besides the point). Donnie has seen him look puzzled over things that Donnie considers simple -- the quadratic formula, string theory, et cetera -- but he's never seen him look quite as perplexed as he does now.   
  
"Are you like... good?" he asks tentatively, taking his hand from Donnie's shoulder, and Donnie relinquishes at the loss of heat. Casey runs so  _ warm. _ __  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." He looks away from Casey, huffing an awkward laugh. "Sorry you had to see that."    
  
"Dude, you don't gotta apologize. I just wish I coulda helped." Casey chuckles, but it's obvious that he feels bad from the way he's rubbing at his neck, and Donnie feels his stomach twisting and his heart fluttering, because Casey is so much more considerate than he dares to let on.    
  
Donnie opens his mouth to speak, but Casey beats him to it.   
  
"Y'know, I, uh. I really, um, care about you -- all of you, I mean -- so yeah, it's cool." Donnie's heartbeat spikes.    
  
"Th-thanks," he says, cursing himself for stuttering, and the small smile Casey gives him in return is so fucking soft that Donnie can barely keep himself together. His face burns, and he sighs shortly. "Casey, listen, I -- " he stops himself. What's he supposed to say,  _ Casey, listen, I can't stop thinking about you, and I want to kiss you more than I've ever wanted to do anything, ever? _ No, he can't say that, he'll ruin everything, and he can't bear to lose more than he already has. "Are  _ you _ okay?"   
  
Casey raises a brow, his head jerking back just a bit, as if surprised by the question.    
  
"Yeah? Why?" Donnie frowns.    
  
"Well, with everything that's happened -- your dad and your sister being... gone, and all -- are you okay?" He pauses, and Casey looks at the bed, plucking at a loose thread on the comforter. Donnie lets out a small huff of laughter. "I mean, you've been so -- so  _ nice  _ to me, with the whole nightmare thing and now this; I feel like a total jackass for not even  __ trying to ask how you feel!" He makes wide, animated gestures with his hands, finding himself leaning closer towards Casey before he catches himself, taking a short breath and pulling his mask back down over his eyes. "So." He looks at Casey. "Be honest. Are you okay?"    
  
Casey sighs, flopping onto his back on the bed, his legs hanging off the side.    
  
"I mean, are any of us really okay?" he asks, rhetorically. "Every one of us lost people. You guys lost Splinter, April lost her dad, and I -- I lost my family." Donnie thinks he can hear a bit of backup in Casey's voice; a constriction in his throat. "And it blows. So I guess... I guess no, I'm not okay. But I'm not gonna fall apart on you guys." He turns his head to look at Donnie, and grins, though his eyes are teary. "We gotta stay positive, right?" Donnie smiles softly back.   
  
"Right."   
  



	5. scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he only liked April, he never felt like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
> 
> i have not posted anything of this caliber. uhhh. ever. and i'm a little ashamed but.
> 
> i'm sure i'll get over it
> 
> explicit masturbation scenes ahoy

Donatello buries his face in his pillow, his face beyond burning, his blush spreading down to his neck.    
  
When he only liked April, he never felt like this. It's not that he likes Casey more than April; that's not the case at all. But when it was just April, he never had this feeling. He just wanted to hold her hand, kiss her, make her feel loved. He never had this hot, bubbling sensation in his stomach when he looked at her; this uncomfortable, coiling tightness in his chest.    
  
He never thought about sex.    
  
Okay, so maybe that was a lie -- of course he'd  _ thought  _ about it, once or twice, at least -- but not the way he thinks about it with Casey. It was never really an interest; a fixation. In the past it was more of a passing thought, an  _ oh yeah, that might be nice.  _ But now, it's... fuck.    
  
Now it's an airy, feverish feeling all over, from his heart to his hips. It's staring at Casey whenever he's not looking -- at his face, his arms, his body. It's gaping, fucking  _ gaping,  _ as he watches Casey spar shirtless outside through the kitchen window. It's thinking about what Casey would look like panting, exhausted, his face screwed up in pleasure. It's hiding his face in his pillow as he ruts uselessly against his bed, desperate for relief from the hot, pooled arousal in his gut.    
  
Now is one of those times. He's flushed with embarrassment, his face buried in his pillow. He reaches a hand underneath himself, cupping the cartilage between his legs and gently massaging the sensitive area. Pressure builds in his groin, and he lets out a soft breath as his cock slides out into his hand.    
  
He shouldn't be doing this. His brothers will smell it on him immediately, but as he runs his thumb over the tip of his sex, he decides that it's worth it. Besides, it's not like he can't smell it on them from time to time. More frequently as of late, but Donnie chalks that up to the immense stress they've all been under.    
  
He grips himself, thrusting shallowly into his hand, and his breathing quickens. He presses his face further into the pillow as he touches himself, his mouth slightly agape as his pleasure grows. He hasn't masturbated in so long, and he's so horny, he's so desperate. He knows he won't last long, and he lets himself get lost in the feeling as he strokes his cock in time with his thrusts, the tension in his stomach rising. He pants softly as he nears his limit, his muscles clenching and relaxing and fuck, he's going to come.    
  
He crests over his peak, clenching his jaw to bite back a churr as he comes, spilling over his fingers and drawing a sharp breath through his teeth. The orgasm courses through him, and he can’t help the soft little 'ah's that escape as wave after wave of pleasure rolls over him.    
  
Donnie feels his entire body relax as the feeling tapers off, his heart still racing. He lies there in contentment, endorphins still pumping through his system, and yawns. He glances at the clock on his nightstand. It's a bit past one in the morning, and he lets his eyes close. Suddenly exhausted, he starts to drift off, but jolts back awake with mortifying realization.    
  
The comforter. He came on the comforter.    
  
He flushes with equal parts embarrassment and terror. Shit. What is he supposed to do with a semen covered blanket at one in the morning? What was he  _ thinking?  _ __  
  
"Ah jeez," he mumbles, forcing himself to sit up. He needs to wash it. He can't sleep in a puddle of his own jizz; he's not an animal. Mutant, yes, but animal -- well, also yes, sort of, but the point he's making to himself still remains.    
  
He stands, stretching briefly before quickly gathering the blanket into a ball, holding it in his arms. He's relieved to see that no wetness has seeped through to the sheets below, but he knows that his room will still smell like semen for days. No problem; he'll just keep his brothers out.    
  
He opens his bedroom door, checking the hallway before hastily making his way down the steps. He tries his best to stay quiet, but the stairs are so old and creaky that it's virtually impossible to be silent, even with a lifetime of ninja training.    
  
He travels swiftly to the laundry room, attempting to keep his steps light and remaining on his toes. He knows that he's safe in the farmhouse, but he stays on guard regardless. Anything could happen.   
  
He reaches the kitchen, fumbling around for the light switch and flipping it on so he can find the door to the laundry room without having to feel around blindly for it. He crosses the cold tile floor, shifting the blanket in his arms so he can open the door.    
  
"Donnie?" He whips around at the sound of his name, heart leaping in his chest, eyes wide.    
  
Of course he's been caught by Casey. Of all the people in this house, of fucking  _ course _ it has to be him. He should have expected no less from this useless, evil world, that existed solely to make him miserable.    
  
"I thought you were an intruder! Ya scared the shit outta me." Donnie notices that Casey is holding his baseball bat in his left hand. He also notices that Casey is only wearing boxer briefs, and good fucking god, can this situation get any worse?   
  
"Nope, just me." He laughs nervously, reaching behind himself for the doorknob. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to -- " He stops when he sees the shit eating grin curling onto Casey's face, and yup, he's busted.    
  
"Classic ‘I-jizzed-on-the-blanket-and-now-I-have-to-wash-it-before-mom-finds-out’ sitch?" he asks, hands on his hips, and Donnie's face burns so badly his eyes water a little.    
  
"N-No," he lies, gaze flicking away from Casey momentarily before returning to the boy's face.    
  
"Dude, relax. I've been there, don't sweat it." Donnie swears his face is going to melt right off of his skull from embarrassment, and presses it into the blanket, absolutely humiliated. "Seriously, Don."    
  
"Please leave," he grumbles into the fabric, but he knows Casey's not going to be able to understand what he's said. He grumbles nonsense as he pulls the laundry room door open and slips inside, closing it behind him.   
  
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck.    
  
He's mortified. There's no other way to put it. Horrified, terrified, humiliated -- name it, and he's feeling it.   
  
Donnie drops the comforter into the washer (top loading; do they even sell those anymore?), adds detergent, and sets it to run. He leans his forehead against the door, letting out a low, miserable groan.    
  
The door swings open, and he stumbles forward, a small noise of surprise escaping him as he does. And, of course, he runs directly into Casey.   
  
He tries his best, but loses balance regardless, and suddenly he's on his hands and knees on the floor, Casey pinned underneath him.    
  
Casey's face is so close to his, inches away, maybe closer. He could just close the gap, he could just kiss him -- he wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so,  _ so _ badly, but he doesn't.    
  
"Casey!" he growls instead, glaring at the teen beneath him, who smiles sheepishly.    
  
"Sorry Dee, I was just checkin' on ya." Donnie frowns, but feels heat rise in his cheeks as he fully comprehends the position he's in, looming over a virtually naked Casey. He scrambles to stand up, forcing an awkward smile and holding a hand out to help Casey back to his feet.    
  
"I don't need to be 'checked on', Jones," he gripes, brushing himself off. He's not dirty, but he'll do anything if it means not having to look Casey in the eyes. The teen raises his hands defensively, a devious grin on his face.    
  
"Ya seemed like you were gonna die out of embarrassment over the jizz blanket, I was just makin' sure you were still alive." Donnie tenses.    
  
"Please, just -- will you stop talking about that? I'm so humiliated right now; you're literally not helping, at all. Not even a little."    
  
"I'm tryin' to tell ya that it's no big deal!"    
  
"Oh my god."   
  
"It's happened to everyone."    
  
"Please stop."    
  
"It's normal, Don."    
  
"Kill me."   
  
"Donnie." Casey grabs his shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes, expression comically serious. Donnie stares back, eyes wide, skin burning where Casey is touching him. "Everyone jerks off. Everyone."    
  
"Okay, I get it! Will you just drop it already?" Casey lets him go, and Donnie immediately yearns for the heat of his touch. He shivers.    
  
He watches Casey grab a box of cereal out of the cabinet, opening it and starting to eat it dry. Mikey does that too -- he'll never understand the appeal.    
  
"Why are you down here, anyway?" Donnie asks, leaning against the counter as Casey takes a seat at the table.    
  
"I traded Leo for the couch. Figured that since he's feelin' good enough to get up and down the stairs, he deserves to actually sleep in a bed." Once again, Donnie finds himself in awe of how considerate Casey can be. When he first met him, the guy had seemed like nothing more than an angry, shallow jerk. But after all these months of getting to know him -- falling for him included -- Donnie's come to realize that while he can be rash, crude, and spastic, Casey is also intelligent, kind, and compassionate.    
  
"That's awfully nice of you. Sucking up for something?" he jokes, and Casey gives a laugh before cramming more cereal into his mouth.    
  
Donnie notices, now that he's calmed down, and the air in the room feels less stifling, that he can smell Casey. He doesn't know whether it's because of Casey's exposed skin, or if it's because it's just the two of them, and he's not overwhelmed by emotions or the scents of others. Whatever the reason, he finds himself inhaling deeply, closing his eyes and listening to Casey munch away on his cereal. He wants to fold around him, bury his face in the crook of his neck and relish in the comforting warmth of Casey's skin. He wants to kiss Casey's throat, his collarbones, his chest, his everything. He wants to mark him; leave hickeys all over him, leave his scent on Casey's body, and have Casey's scent on his. He wants Casey to kiss him, hard and deep, so Donnie can taste him and feel his lips against his own. He wants --   
  
"You fallin' asleep, dude?" Casey's voice cuts through his thoughts, and he opens his eyes to look at him. His hair is mussed from sleep, and Donnie realizes that he's not wearing his bandana, and that he's never seen Casey without it on. It's a good look on him, though Donnie supposes that he'd think anything was a good look on Casey.    
  
"No, I'm awake. Tired, though." His body times his statement with a yawn, as if to accentuate what he's said.    
  
"Aw, man, don't go to sleep yet! I wanna hang out," Casey complains, and Donnie raises a brow.    
  
"Hang out? It's one in the morning."    
  
"One twenty-four," Casey specifies, giving him a finger gun.    
  
"One twenty-four, one forty-two, whatever it is, it's late, and I'm going to bed." Casey frowns.    
  
"At least stay till your blanket's done in the wash." Donnie flushes at the mention.    
  
"Fine," he agrees, willing away the heat under his skin. He walks over to the table and drops heavily into the seat across from Casey, folding his arms on top of the wood and laying his head on them, closing his eyes.    
  
"You're still embarrassed about that, huh?" Casey asks, rhetorically. There's humor in his voice, and Donnie internally groans.    
  
"I thought I told you to drop it," he grumbles, not looking up from his position.    
  
"Casey Jones doesn't 'drop it'." Donnie can practically hear the air quotes around his words, and he sighs defeatedly, too tired to really care as much as he probably should.   
  
"Yes Casey, I'm still embarrassed about it, thank you for pointing it out."    
  
"I don't get it though. I jerk off all the time, but I'm not afraid to admit it." Donnie's eyes snap open, and he jolts his head up to look at Casey.   
  
"Dude! You can't just  _ say _ that!" He feels his face start to burn again.    
  
"Why not? Like I said, everybody does it. It's not weird."    
  
"It's weird to -- to just talk about it like it's nothing, though."    
  
"It is nothin', though. Dude, I was just jerkin' off earlier before I went to sleep! It's normal." Donnie gapes at him, shocked at how casually he can just admit to it.    
  
"Not on the couch, I hope," he says, and Casey laughs.   
  
"Nah dude, I wouldn't do that. But see? It doesn't gotta be like, taboo. You don't gotta be weird about it."    
  
"You really don't think it's at least a  _ little _ bit weird to just discuss masturbatory habits like it's politics?" Casey shrugs.    
  
"I guess you've never had a guy friend before. Other than your brothers, an' it'd be super weird to talk about this stuff with siblings." Donnie nods, rolling his eyes.    
  
"Yeah, well you've got that right. Especially since we can smell it on one another." It's Casey's turn to gape.   
  
_ "Smell _ it?" He laughs. "What?!" Donnie nods.   
  
"We can literally smell when one of us has done it. It's so awkward."    
  
"So they'll be able to smell that you did it when they wake up tomorrow?" Donnie blushes.    
  
"Unless I shower, yeah. I'm not looking forward to it."    
  
"Can you smell it on me?" Donnie freezes, and his heart lurches, beating faster at the question. Casey is looking at him with such intrigue, leaning forward in his seat, his elbows on the table. There's no judgement or disgust, upset or fear in his eyes. Donnie swallows, and sighs.    
  
"Humans smell different," he explains tentatively. "I don't really know what you smell like normally, so I guess I wouldn't really be able to tell."    
  
"Well, what do I smell like now?" Donnie closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, smirking.     
  
"Like you need a shower." A mini wheat flies across the room, hitting him in the shoulder and bouncing onto the table. Donnie laughs, picking it up and chucking it back at Casey. He catches it, popping it into his mouth.    
  
"I'm serious, dude. I'm like, super curious about this." Donnie gives him an unamused look, but closes his eyes and focuses on the way Casey smells regardless. Now that he knows that Casey has been touching himself, he can very clearly smell the sex on him. In fact, it's overwhelming. So  _ that's _ why he could smell him so strongly earlier. It's warmer than the way it smells on him and his brothers, though. Fuller. Thicker. It's hard to describe. It's so similar, yet so different at the same time.    
  
He furrows his brow, trying to focus on any scent that lingers underneath. He picks up hints of soap, sweat, and deodorant. There's something mildly sweet. Something masculine. He must have showered earlier.    
  
"Honestly, I can't really tell right now," he says, opening his eyes. Casey is peering intently at him. "Now that I know what you were... up to, earlier, I can definitely smell it on you. Apparently it's similar enough to be discernible whether it's reptilian or mammalian." He pauses, waiting for a change in atmosphere -- for Casey to decide that this is too weird, too freaky, and leave. But it doesn't happen. "And, uh, I can smell that you took a shower earlier. With, like, five different kinds of soap." Casey grins. "But 'cause of that stuff, I don't really know what you actually smell like on a normal basis."    
  
With every breath, Donnie can only smell Casey. The powerful scent of sex is so obvious now, so apparent, and he finds himself drawn to it. It's heavy, thick, appealing. He feels his mouth nearly watering at it.    
  
This is bad. This is really, really bad.    
  
Donnie has an animalistic side. He's known this for... well, forever. It's part of what makes him and his brothers such powerful warriors -- the basic instinct to stake down territory; to defend what's yours with everything you have. He is, after all, much more of an animal than humans are.    
  
But he's been painfully aware of just how animalistic he can be since the first time he touched himself, when he ended up making a noise that caused him to halt everything. He knows now it was just churring; a sound turtles make while mating. Still, every time he feels it rise in his throat, it's a stabbing reminder of just what he is.    
  
Now, though, his human side is kicking in, attracted to the heavy mammalian scent Casey is putting off. It's an odd combination -- the animalistic tendencies of his reptilian origins mixing with the human appeal of hominid pheromones. And it makes for a dangerous concoction.    
  
Donnie feels his heartbeat pick up, his chest vibrating as the beginnings of a deep rumble form. Everything Casey floods his senses -- his scent is so deep that Donnie can nearly  _ taste _ it -- and he feels himself growing hard. And it's  _ so much worse _ than before.    
  
He shuts everything down at the first inkling of possessiveness; the first thought that he wants to hold Casey down and just  _ take.  _   
  
"I -- I have to go," he says, standing from the table so abruptly that the chair he's been sitting in nearly falls over.    
  
"Are you -- "    
  
"I'm fine." Everything is hazy. He's swamped by Casey's scent; it blankets everything. Donnie feels hot, and sticky, and horny, and he doesn't trust himself not to do something he'll regret.   
  
"What about your blanket?" But Donnie is already making his way back up the steps, not taking a moment to look back. He closes his bedroom door firmly behind him, leaning back against it.    
  
His heart is racing, vibrations rumbling in his chest, his palms sweaty. He gulps, reaching down between his legs with a trembling hand, already hard to the point where it barely takes anything for his cock to unsheathe. It rests heavily in his hand, and he begins pumping himself without hesitation.    
  
Everything is a haze. His nose is still filled with the scent of Casey; the image of him nearly nude plastered onto the forefront of Donnie's mind. He imagines what Casey would look like masturbating -- he thinks about him stroking himself lazily with one hand while watching porn on his phone with the other, eyes closed and mouth dropping open as he comes. Donnie feels a rush of pleasure at the thought, his knees shuddering under his weight as he leans heavily against the door. He pants softly, and even though he’s already come that night, he knows he's not going to last long this time either.    
  
He quickens his pace, feeling the tightness in his belly grow as he nears his end. He imagines what it would be like to press his mouth against Casey's skin, to taste his sweat. He wonders how it would feel inside of him; what he would sound like with Donnie fucking him right against that sensitive spot deep within him. He pictures Casey quivering as he comes without needing to touch himself, the pleasure from Donnie pounding into him enough to send him over the edge.    
  
The thought of Casey coming, of him coming because of  __ Donnie, sends Donnie's orgasm rushing through him, and he covers his mouth to keep from moaning as deep, satisfied churrs rumble in chest. Cum runs from his cock, dripping to the floor as he breathes deeply, his heart hammering as his orgasm staves off.    
  
After a bit, he grabs a tissue from his nightstand, cleans up, and flops onto his back on the bed. Exhaustion floods over him, and he closes his eyes, his last thought before falling asleep one of Casey.   



	6. avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He avoids Casey after that. Well, 'avoiding' isn't completely accurate. After all, it's nearly impossible to avoid someone that lives in the same house as you. But that doesn't mean Donnie doesn't TRY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my creative process is basically do whatever the fuck i want even if it barely fits so
> 
> this story is all over the place, man

He avoids Casey after that. Well, 'avoiding' isn't completely accurate. After all, it's nearly impossible to avoid someone that lives in the same house as you. But that doesn't mean Donnie doesn't  _ try.  _ __   
  
Whenever Casey is around, Donnie makes an excuse -- it doesn't matter how ridiculous -- as to why he has to go elsewhere. He's even begun to eat dinner in his room instead of in front of the television with everyone else.   
  
He can tell that after a few days, his family is starting to notice that something is wrong. He walks into rooms and his brothers shush one another, giving him awkward smiles and attempting to enrapture him in pointless small talk. Donnie ignores them for the most part. He just spends even more time in his room, either roaming the internet on his laptop or working on a project he's taken from the barn.    
  
"You're putting off some weird vibes, Don," April says one day, cornering him in the kitchen while he gets himself a glass of water. Donnie immediately knows that his brothers have put her up to this; he can tell they're waiting right around the corner, listening in on the conversation.    
  
"When am I not?" he replies, filling his glass and pushing past her, heading for the steps. He sees his brothers attempting to act casual on the other side of the wall, and he shakes his head.    
  
"Donnie, I'm serious." He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns around to face April, who's looking at him with pleading eyes, her features creased with worry. Even like this, she's gorgeous. "We're worried about you."   
  
"There's nothing to be worried about," he says. "I'm totally fine." April pulls back, crossing her arms.    
  
"I don't have to be psychic to know  _ that's _ a lie." He sighs.    
  
"Guys, seriously, I'm okay," he lies again. "I'm just... working on... stuff." He clears his throat, looking away from April as she frowns.    
  
"Why not work on it in the barn?" she asks.    
  
"Because..." he starts.  _ Because Casey's there, and I have an enormous crush on him, and I can barely look at him without blushing until I feel faint in the head.  _ "Because I don't want to."    
  
"Donnie, please," April begs, clasping her hands together.  _ "Please _ just talk to me! To us!" Donnie swallows as he sees the tears welling in her eyes, and his stomach twists. He wants to talk to her so, so badly. She's his best friend. He confides in her, and vice versa, but with this, he just can't. He can't talk about his crush on someone else  _ to his crush.  _ It's just absurd.    
  
"I'm -- I'm sorry. I just -- I can't talk about it." Suddenly, Mikey gasps. Donnie's eyes snap to his face, where his younger brother has clapped his hands over his mouth, staring at Donnie with wide eyes. As soon as he makes eye contact, he knows that Mikey has figured out exactly what's going on, or at least something close, and he's simultaneously relieved and filled with dread.    
  
"Mikey? What?" Leo asks, but Mikey shakes his head, darting across the room and grabbing Donnie's wrist, causing him to drop his glass before pulling him hastily up the steps. He drags Donnie into his room, closing the door behind them.    
  
"Dude! I figured it out!" he exclaims, and to Donnie's relief, he keeps his voice down.    
  
"Congratulations, Michael. You put two and two together and  _ finally _ got four," he deadpans sarcastically.    
  
"Donnie! You can't just ignore Casey!" Mikey is serious, Donnie can tell. He looks worried, distressed, and Donnie feels an onslaught of guilt as he fully realizes that he's been hurting his family and friends because of this.    
  
"I physically  _ cannot _ be around him, Mikey!" he whisper-shouts, his throat clenching. "I can't function with him around. He's too distracting!"    
  
"You've had a crush on April for forever, dude, what's the difference?"    
  
"There’s a big difference, Mikey, there's a big, big difference!" Donnie can tell that Mikey is confused, and he buries his face in his hands. He doesn't know how he's supposed to explain his feelings to his little brother, of all people. He lifts his head from his hands, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "Mikey, do you know how attraction works?" he asks, pressing the tips of his fingers together.    
  
"Yeah, duh, it's when you wanna date someone," he replies.    
  
"Do you know about the different ways to be attracted to someone?" Embarrassment bubbles in his chest. Fuck, he can't believe he's doing this.    
  
"There's more than one way?" Mikey looks puzzled. He's really going to have to spell it out for him, which just makes his embarrassment grow hotter.    
  
"Yes, Mikey, see, there's just wanting to date someone and then there's wanting to... go further... than that." Mikey blinks, staring blankly. Donnie watches him for a few moments, waiting for it to click. He knows it will. Mikey's not as innocent as he pretends to be sometimes, and after a minute, his eyes widen in realization.    
  
"Oh, my god, you wanna do it with Casey!" he all but shouts, and Donnie frantically clamps his hand over his brother's mouth.    
  
"Sure, just tell the entire house, why don't you?" he snaps, glaring at Mikey, his face hot with humiliation, but trying to appear intimidating regardless. "Keep your voice down, will you?" He nods, and Donnie releases him.    
  
"So that's why you're avoiding Casey? Because you wanna do him?" he asks quietly, and Donnie presses his fingers to his eyes.    
  
"The other night, I -- he smelled like sex, I guarantee you could smell it the next morning, Mikey, and I -- well, I almost got... possessive, and it was bad, and now I don't trust myself around him," he admits, and while it feels like an enormous weight off his chest, it's also a distressing reminder of the situation he's in. "And I can't stop thinking about it, and I feel like such a jerk, and I don't know what to do."    
  
Mikey stands there in silence for a bit, and Donnie sits on the bed, smoothing a wrinkle in the comforter.    
  
"How do you think Casey feels?" he asks after a while. Donnie looks up.   
  
"What?"    
  
"How do you this is making Casey feel?" Mikey's voice raises, and he steps closer, his brow furrowing. "You're just -- just totally ignoring him! Don't you think that's hurtin' him?" He stands over Donnie, peering down at him, his features drawn in anger. "He cares about you, Dee! And you're just ignoring him! Friends don't do that, man!" Donnie flinches. Mikey doesn't get angry often, but it's so, so rattling when he does.    
  
"I -- I didn't --"   
  
"You need to get yourself together, dude! I get that you're hurtin', and I get that you're confused and stuff, but you actin' like this isn't just affecting you, Don!" Mikey grips Donnie's shoulders, leaning down to eye level and staring directly at him. "Everyone just wants you to feel better, dude." Donnie sighs.   
  
"I know, I know, I just -- I don't know what to do, Mikey. What am I supposed to say? I can't confess, it'll make everything so weird!" He rests his head in his hands, and feels Mikey settle his weight next to him on the bed.    
  
"You confessed to April, right?" he asks.   
  
"Yeah, sort of, I guess."   
  
"And she kissed you, right?" Donnie blushes, smiling.    
  
"Yeah, she did."    
  
"Soooo... maybe the same thing'll happen with Casey." Donnie shakes his head.   
  
"I doubt it."   
  
"You dunno that."   
  
"I'm not confessing, Mikey," he says firmly, glaring at his brother. "But, I'll... stop avoiding him. If that'll make you all happy." Mikey grins.    
  
"It will," he says, standing and placing his hands on his hips before reaching out to pull Donnie up from the bed. Donnie gives him a weak smile as he stands, and Mikey pulls him into a hug.    
  
"Okay, this is unnecessary," he gripes, but Mikey only squeezes him tighter.    
  
"It's totally necessary, bro. Totally. Necessary."    
  
\---   
  
"Hey."    
  
Donnie looks up from his project, making eye contact with Casey as the boy walks into the barn. A blush immediately rises on his cheeks.    
  
"H-Hey, Casey, hi, what's up?" He internally cringes at how awkward he sounds, but the fact that he's even able to get any words out in the first place is a feat in itself.    
  
"Not much. Haven't seen you in a while; everything cool?" he asks, and Donnie swallows, nodding.    
  
"Oh, yeah, everything's just perfect. Peachy. The best it could be." He gives a nervous, crooked grin that he knows doesn't reach his eyes, and Casey raises a brow.    
  
"Okay, well... cool, I guess." Casey pauses, and Donnie chuckles tensely. After a moment, Casey lets out a sigh, leaning back against Donnie's desk.    
  
"Look, Donnie, I'm gonna be honest with you," he says, and Donnie feels anxiety grip his chest.    
  
"O-Oh?" he replies, feeling as though spiders are crawling up his spine. What if Casey knows how he feels; what if he's come to tell him that he doesn't want to be friends anymore; what if he hates him now? Donnie feels his throat tighten.    
  
"I know you've been avoiding me since the whole blanket thing last week. And I dunno why, but I figured that it's somethin' I did, so... I'm sorry. For whatever it was."    
  
Donnie feels the tension in his chest release, and he lets out a sigh of relief, keeping it as subtle as he can. So Casey  _ doesn't _ know. Thank the goddamn  _ heavens.  _   
  
"You're... sorry?" he asks, dumbfounded. Past being able to process that Casey is still in the dark about his feelings, everything else has yet to register -- the apology, the distressingly sad look on Casey's face -- any of it.    
  
"Yeah. I guess I crossed a line, an' I'm sorry." Donnie stares at him for a moment before letting out a huff of laughter.    
  
"Casey. Do you even  _ know _ what you're apologizing for?" he asks, smiling.    
  
"I mean -- there's gotta be somethin', right? I'm a dumbass and don't know what it is, but I'm sayin' I'm sorry anyway." Donnie shakes his head.    
  
"You didn't do anything that you need to apologize for, dude," he says, and Casey gives him a puzzled look.    
  
"Wait, there's not?"    
  
"No, there's not." Casey frowns.   
  
"Then why have you been totally avoiding me?"    
  
Donnie takes a deep breath before letting out a sigh. He's rehearsed what he's going to say in his head countless times. He's going to tell the truth -- part of it, at least -- and apologize for his behavior. He's going to tell Casey that he values his friendship, and that he doesn't want to risk losing it again because of his own insecurities.    
  
"That night, I got... overwhelmed. By everything. The situation was embarrassing to begin with, and then with the questions you were asking, it -- it was too much for me to deal with at the time," he explains, maintaining his composure. So far, so good. Casey doesn't seem upset, just curious, and honestly, this is probably the best this situation could go, and Donnie can't be thankful enough for that.   
  
"But... I thought it wasn't somethin' I did? I'm confused." Donnie takes another deep breath.    
  
"I'm not done," he says. "It wasn't anything you did, or said, it was -- and please don't get too weirded out by this -- it was how you smelled." Casey's puzzled expression deepens, and Donnie forces himself to continue, a flush rising under his skin as he looks away from the other boy's face. "See, it's -- I was -- it's not -- I got -- I'm an animal, Casey, I can't -- I don't -- oh god, this is embarrassing -- okay, um, I..." He's falling apart; fuck, it had been going so well, but of course the universe couldn't just let him  _ have this,  _ because when did it ever? He hunches in on himself a bit, but steels his resolve. "I got, um, turned on, and I didn't know what to do, so I bolted."    
  
He doesn't look at Casey's face. He stares at the ground, at the stray strands of hay that litter the barn floor. He focuses on anything but the silence that stretches between himself and one of the most important people in his life, forcing his brain to think about random things -- the news report on TV this morning, potential upgrades to the hot rod, anything really. But his thoughts stray back to his anxiety, back to the expansive quiet that fills the barn.    
  
He never should have said anything. Fuck.  __ Fuck. Casey's going to think he's a creep, a pervert. He's going to laugh in his face, call him names, and then end any semblance of a friendship they may have had. Everything is going to be ruined. Just how he thought it would be.    
  
He feels hot tears press against the backs of his eyes, and he swallows thickly against the lump that's forming in his throat. Crying will only make this worse, and Casey's already seen him cry, he doesn't need to see it again.    
  
Should he apologize? What could he possibly say? Is there any way to diffuse a situation like this? Could he claim that he was just joking? No, that's an asshole move. Casey came to him to be honest, and he expected honesty in return. And it's what Donnie gave him, and now he regretted it.    
  
He should have just kept to himself. He should have locked himself in his room until he wasted away. Wouldn't that be for the better? No one would have to worry about him; no one would have to care about him.    
  
He bites back the tears, holding his breath. He can't do this anymore, he needs to get away, he needs to flee, he needs to --   
  
"Sorry, I just need a minute to process." Casey's voice interrupts his thoughts, and he looks up, slowly meeting the other boy's eyes.    
  
"What?" he asks. "Are you -- you're not weirded out, are you? I get it if you are, and I'm sorry for being so weird and gross, and it won't happen again, I promise -- "   
  
"Oh my god, Donnie, just shut the fuck up for once," Casey says, and though the words should be hurtful, the teasing tone in Casey's voice and the small smile on his face keeps them from from actually stinging.    
  
"Sorry." Donnie looks back at the floor. He taps his feet nervously, waiting for whatever else Casey has to say.    
  
"So... that's it?" he says after a while, and Donnie looks back up at him, confused. "Ya got a boner so you ran away?" Donnie flushes down to his neck.    
  
"I guess when you put it that way, it sounds a little less distressing than how it actually felt," he mumbles.    
  
"It's not weird to get a boner over somethin' like that. Honestly, I'm flattered, but it's not like you're into me or anything. It was just the sex stink." He grins, and oh, the irony of his statement is so strong Donnie nearly outs himself right then and there in his compulsion to correct him.    
  
"So, to recap: you're not uncomfortable about this?" Donnie asks, pointing at Casey, who shakes his head, a smile on his face. "You're sure? This isn't gonna make things weird between us?" As if things aren't already fucking weird between them.   
  
"Nah, Dee. Ya got nothin' to worry about."    
  
"Okay." Donnie examines Casey's face, but sees no trace of dishonesty. To be frank, Casey rarely ever lies, because he just doesn't care about sugarcoating things. His bluntness is something Donnie both admires and finds frustrating about him.    
  
"So we're cool? You're done avoidin' me?" Donnie smiles, nodding.    
  
"Sorry I did it in the first place," he says, and Casey grins.    
  
"Apology accepted," he replies, and holds out his fist. Donnie bumps his knuckles against his, smiling just a little wider at the warm feeling that spreads through his chest.   



	7. together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a hot, humid night, and Donnie finds himself working in the barn until well after dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look 
> 
> the fucking longest chapter of anything i've ever written. ever
> 
> but at least there's a lotta that gay shit
> 
> i'm so tired
> 
> cw for underage drinking

It's a hot, humid night, and Donnie finds himself working in the barn until well after dark. He hums along to music that warbles through the old, tiny stereo that sits on his desk as he takes apart the hot rod's engine. It's a soft rock song that calms him down and helps him think, and he feels utterly at peace. The scent of the summer night flutters in on a gentle breeze, and he sighs, sitting back on his heels and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He smiles to himself, examining his work.   
  
Things are good. Leo has been feeling better, Raph has been less angry, Mikey has been happy -- everything is about the best it can be. Of course, their city is still overrun by aliens, but Donnie tries to avoid thinking about that. He needs the quiet stability the farm has offered him, just for a little bit.    
  
He focuses on his work, removing some of the smaller pieces of the engine. While examining the stealth ship buried in the basement, he'd found a new piece that, after a bit of experimenting, he thought could be a helpful addition to the hot rod. He hopes he's right; if it blows up, not only will he lose months of work, but he'll have an irate Casey to deal with as well.    
  
He checks his phone, wondering if any notifications have come through. Nothing important, other than a text from Raph telling Mikey to stop sending bad pictures of him in the group chat. He smiles, opening the chat and looking through the terrible shots of Raph. He chuckles to himself. Apparently at some point, Casey had joined in on the fun, sending selfies of him catching Raph off guard. In every one of Casey's pictures, he's either giving a peace sign, sticking his tongue out, or flipping off the camera.    
  
God, he's fucking adorable, and Donnie finds himself blushing as he flips through the photos.    
  
He hears the barn doors close, and he looks up abruptly, closing his phone and laying it face down on the ground. His heart beats a little faster when he sees that it's Casey who's walking towards him, a smug grin on his face (as usual) and something large in his left hand. Donnie's eyes widen.   
  
"Is that... beer?" he asks. Casey's smile widens, and he nods, holding up the case as if to brandish it in front of Donnie.    
  
"You bet," he replies. "Snagged it from Bernie's when he wasn't lookin'. Pretty cool, right?" Donnie frowns, standing to meet Casey at eye level and folding his arms crossly.    
  
"So you stole it?" he asks rhetorically. Casey shrugs, placing the case down on the ground and coming back up with a bottle in each hand.    
  
"Drink with me," he says, holding a bottle out. Donnie eyes it briefly before looking back at the boy in front of him.    
  
"Casey, we're underage. That's illegal." Casey smirks.    
  
"That's what makes it fun, Dee." Donnie rolls his eyes.    
  
"Go drink with Raph. I'm sure he'll want to. I have things to do." He crouches back down to examine the engine parts scattered on the ground. He needs to check the brake line, he realizes, and he maneuvers until he can pull himself underneath the car to take a look.    
  
"I don't wanna drink with Raph," Casey complains from above. "He's a sad drunk. He just wants to talk about how lonely he is and how no one understands him."    
  
"Well, that's how Raph talks when he's sober, too, so it's not really all that surprising." He feels around for the line, examining it carefully.    
  
_ "C'mon _ Donnie, please? You're so stressed all the time. Ya gotta learn to cut loose."    
  
"I am cutting loose! This is how I like to spend my spare time." He hears Casey groan.    
  
"You're such a nerd, Don. Come drink with the cool kids for once." Donnie snorts, rolling out from beneath the car, dusting off his hands.   
  
"So  _ you're _ the cool kid in this scenario?" He laughs. "Pass."   
  
"It's fun, just try it!" Donnie narrows his eyes, smirking.    
  
"Are you trying to peer pressure me right now?" Casey returns his smirk.    
  
"Maybe." Again he holds out the bottle, and Donnie sighs. What's the worst that could happen? Plus, he'll get to spend time with Casey, and that's something he'll enjoy, drunk or sober.    
  
"Ah, what the hell." He takes it, standing, skimming the label as he does. Casey pumps his fist in victory, a huge grin on his face.    
  
"Ever drank before?" he asks, popping the cap off his bottle and tossing it towards the trash can. "Casey Jones for three!" he shouts as the cap sails through the air. He misses by a yard, at least.    
  
"You should definitely stick to hockey, Jones," Donnie comments, and Casey punches him in the shoulder. Donnie grins, shoving him in return. "And no, I have not." Casey gets a devious smile on his face.   
  
"Heh, you're gonna be a lightweight, ain'tcha?" Donnie rolls his eyes.    
  
"I guess we'll find out," he says, twisting off the cap of his own bottle and looking down the neck.    
  
"Cheers," Casey says, and Donnie looks up from the bottle, making eye contact with him. He has a crooked grin on his face, and he holds his bottle out to Donnie.    
  
"What're we toasting to, exactly?" he asks, partially because he's genuinely curious, but mostly because he wants to see what kind of bullshit answer Casey will give him.    
  
"To..." Casey trails off, looking at the ceiling, clearly thinking. Then he smiles, looking back at Donnie. "To our weird, fucked up lives. May they remain just as weird and fucked up for as long as we live." Donnie smiles fondly, hoping that Casey can't see the affection in his eyes as he clinks their bottles together.    
  
"Well, the constant persecution could stand to cool off a bit, but fuck it, I'll drink to that."    
  
\---    
  
Beer is disgusting, to put it lightly. The second it hits his tongue, he scowls, and nearly spits it out just from the jolting shock of how absolutely horrible it is.    
  
"Oh, that is awful," he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Does it all taste like this?" Casey finishes his swig and laughs, climbing into the passenger's seat of the hot rod.    
  
"Pretty much," he replies, and beckons for Donnie to join him. Donnie blushes a bit, walking around the front of the car and climbing in next to him, taking another sip from his bottle. He grimaces -- still bad.    
  
"Why do people drink this junk?" he asks, mostly rhetorically, but at the same time genuinely wondering why anyone would torture themselves with this. Casey shrugs.   
  
"Some people like it, I guess. My dad always said it was an 'acquired taste'." He uses air quotes around his words, chuckling. "Whatever that means. I just do it to get buzzed."    
  
"I suppose that's as valid a reason as any." Donnie doesn't mention the way Casey uses past tense to describe his father, as if the man has passed. He briefly worries that Casey thinks his family is dead, but he drowns the worry in a long drawl of beer. His face screws up, and he shudders at the flavor. Casey laughs.    
  
"Ya get used to it after a while," he says, taking a sip from his own. Donnie smiles fondly at him. His stomach feels warm and bubbly, and he can tell that he's going to start feeling the effects of the alcohol almost comically soon.    
  
"Well, you were right," he says after a bit, examining the label of his bottle. "I'm definitely a lightweight." Casey laughs again, smiling at him, and Donnie feels hot under his gaze. And as if that weren't enough, Casey slings his arm around his shoulders, pressing close to him in the process.    
  
Donnie begins to realize why drinking with Casey may have been a bad idea. What if he says something embarrassing? What if he loses all inhibition and does something he regrets?   
  
His bout of anxiety is cut short as Casey removes his arm from his shoulders, and though it is almost disgustingly hot outside, Donnie still has to suppress a shiver at the loss of warmth. It happens every time he loses Casey's touch, and no matter what he does, he can't stop it.    
  
He takes another sip, trying to ignore the worries and the lack of bodily warmth. Crickets chirp, and Donnie becomes aware of the quiet between him and Casey, and he wonders if he should say something. About what, he's not sure, but instead of the comfortable silence that usually overcomes the two of them while they work on their own respective projects, this absence feels tense. Uncomfortable. Donnie's not sure whether Casey feels it too, or if it's just one-sided (as most things are for Donnie, he's come to realize with a residual bitterness).    
  
Instead of speaking, he busies himself with finishing off his bottle. He's shocked, honestly, that he was even able to choke down such a repulsive substance. And he's equally -- if not more -- shocked that he wants another.    
  
Donnie can already feel himself getting tipsy as he reaches for a second beer, and the sensible voice in the back of his head tells him that this is a  _ bad idea, _ and he should quit while he's ahead, but he ignores it, grabbing another bottle regardless. 

 

"Whoa there, Don," Casey chirps, a grin on his face. "A second? Already? Gettin' crazy, are we?" Donnie rolls his eyes.    
  
"Yeah, wild," he says sarcastically as he pops the top off, bringing the neck to his lips and taking a drink. It's still bad, but as long as the tingly feeling in his chest keeps spreading, he's sure he can deal with it.    
  
"Y'know, maybe this is the beer talkin', but I kinda wanna run away." 

 

Casey's words rattle him, and Donnie nearly chokes, coughing and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before meeting Casey's eyes.  
  
"Run away?" he echoes, astounded. Casey nods.   
  
"Yeah. You and me, I mean. Leave all this bullshit behind an' just... go wherever we wanna go." Donnie chuckles.   
  
"You say that like we're a couple," he jokes, and immediately he catches himself. That's not what he meant to say. At all. The words had just come out. So _there_ was the lack of self control people always talked about in relation to alcohol. "Sounds more like something you and Raph would have fun doing." His attempt to avert works, and Casey shakes his head.  
  
"I love Raph, but the guy's not someone I can be around twenty-four seven." He pauses. "Even though I guess I kinda already am. But still, ya get what I mean." Donnie nods slowly.   
  
"But you think you could be around _me_ constantly?" he asks, and Casey shrugs.   
  
"Think about it. We already spend a shitload of time together in here," he gestures to the barn walls around them, "so would it really be that different?"  
  
Donnie thinks about it. He and Casey on the run, just the two of them. He almost smiles at the idea. It's nice to think about -- Casey's sole and complete focus on Donnie at all times, indifferent to the world around them. It's practically a dream come true, and Donnie relishes in his imagination for just a moment.   
  
"It would be different," he says. "But maybe not a bad different." Casey hums in agreement.   
  
"Things just suck around here. Maybe I'm homesick or whatever, but I just wanna leave this place and never fuckin' come back." Donnie takes a short sip from his bottle before responding.   
  
"I thought things had been going relatively decent lately, actually," he says, and Casey groans.   
  
"For you, maybe. Red's been ice cold to me, Mikey gets super weird around me for no reason, Leo's depressed, and Raph -- " Casey stops short, looking at Donnie. "Can I tell you somethin'?"   
  
"Yeah, go for it." Casey looks away from him again, leaning heavily against the back of his seat.  
  
"Raph and me, we sort of -- well, we kissed, or more like I kissed him, and now things are weird, and we haven't really talked since it happened."   
  
It takes a surprisingly short amount of time for Donnie to process this revelation. It's probably because of the alcohol, but he'll take it.   
  
He should sympathize. That's probably what Casey wants, right? A simple 'that sucks, dude, but it'll all work out'. Or should he act surprised? Not that he isn't surprised, he absolutely is -- surprised that it happened, surprised that Casey swings that way, surprised that he chose _Donnie_ of all people to confide in -- he's completely surprised. Some might even say shocked. But shock probably isn't the way to go right now.   
  
"You kissed Raph?" His alcohol inflicted brain decides on his reaction for him -- something between shock and bewilderment, which is essentially the opposite of what he was going for, but what's done is done.   
  
"Yup. Big mistake?" Donnie blinks at him.   
  
"You like Raph?" he asks. The disappointment and jealousy finally arrives, and he feels his heart sink.   
  
"No? Maybe? I dunno, man." Casey takes a long drink from his bottle, tossing it to the ground and popping open a second. "I was drunk, we were chillin’, and next thing I knew I was kissin' him." He takes a sip from his fresh bottle. "I said I was sorry and stuff, an' he said it was fine, but now things are fucked up and I dunno how to fix it."   
  
"You like guys?" Casey laughs.   
  
"Still catchin' up, huh?" he jokes, shaking his head, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, I like dudes. And girls, for that matter. Got a problem with that?" Donnie's eyes widen.  
  
"What? No! No, no no, I'm not -- I don't have a problem with it, I promise." He fumbles over his words. He's just so surprised that Casey is _like him,_ that he's not alone in his group of friends, and that of all people it's _Casey._ "I'm -- uh, me too." He blushes.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"I -- I like both, too." He's never really told anyone before, or even said it aloud, for that matter, but he knows that Casey won't judge him. He really _can't_ judge him.   
  
"Cool," Casey says with a grin, taking a long drawl from his bottle. "Haven't met another bi dude before." Donnie grins back.   
  
"Well, now you have. You've officially met one. A bi dude. _Another_ bi dude. A bi guy, if you will." Casey gives him a look, a humorous, mildly confused one, and Donnie laughs embarrassedly. "Sorry. Never really said it to anyone before." Casey nods.  
  
"I get it." He pauses. "Wait, am I the first person you're out to?"   
  
"You're the first person I've _told._ Mikey figured it out a while back, but I never actually came out to him." Casey nods, an impressed look on his face.   
  
"Mikey figured it out, eh?" He snorts, bringing his bottle to his lips. "That's a shocker." Donnie laughs.  
  
"He's ridiculously intuitive about some things." Donnie takes a sip from his own bottle. "But this isn't about me. How long ago did the thing with Raph happen?" He feels jealousy pang in his chest as he imagines Casey kissing his brother and not _him._   
  
"Monday." Donnie nods. 

 

"So you guys haven't talked in five days?" he asks, sympathy overcoming his envy. He knows what it's like to be ignored by your best friend.    
  
"Yup." Casey sighs, putting a hand on his forehead. "It sucks. I feel like such a dick."    
  
"I know the feeling," Donnie concurs, taking a drink. "It does suck. A lot."   
  
"Yeah." Casey takes a long sip from his beer.    
  
"It'll work out. I don't think Raph would let something like that ruin things between you guys. You're best friends." Donnie tries to give an encouraging smile, but he knows it's not convincing. Casey doesn't look at him anyway, and he hopes his sad attempt goes unnoticed.    
  
"I hope you're right." A grin spreads across Casey's face. "But I'm done talkin' about this. You ever kissed anyone, Don?" Donnie blushes, looking at the steering wheel in front of him.    
  
"Um," he starts, his face hot. "N-Not really. I mean, sort of? April kissed me. On the mouth, I mean. Once. It was nice." He glances at Casey, who's staring at him, wide eyed.    
  
"Seriously?" he asks, an astonished expression on his face. "How did I not know about this?!" He's smiling, and Donnie is so  _ relieved _ he's not mad.    
  
"I didn't tell anyone, that's how," he jokes. "Well, except Mikey. He saw it through the window, so I kinda had to."    
  
"I'm just surprised ya didn't come runnin' to me to rub it in!" Casey exclaims, snickering. Donnie chuckles.    
  
"I don't  _ always _ do that, y'know," he says, smirking. "But yeah, that's the only time. When else would I have ever?” He pauses before asking, “What about you?" He knows the answer will just upset him, but he’s desperate to keep the conversation going, and he flushes as Casey shrugs.    
  
"I've made out with a couple people over the years," he says. "Mostly just flings, though. None of 'em lasted more than a few weeks. And  _ never  _ with April." Casey elbows Donnie in the side, grinning. Donnie smiles as Casey pulls back with a sigh. "I just need someone I can make out with whenever I want. No commitment, no nothin'. Just someone to blow off steam with."

 

There's a beat of silence before Donnie's alcohol ridden mind strays, and his mouth betrays him.   
  
"What about me?" Immediately he flushes, and in his peripheral he sees Casey's mouth fall open. Oh, now he's fucked  _ everything _ up. He knew drinking was a bad idea, why did he go through with it? "I-I -- I mean, if you wanted to. You don't have to, obviously, I just... thought I'd put it out there." He chuckles nervously, glancing at Casey. There's no way to do damage control on this. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm gonna go -- " He starts to get up, but Casey grabs his arm, stopping him.    
  
"Wait," he says quietly, and Donnie swallows, sinking slowly back into the driver's seat and staring hard at the steering wheel. 

 

"Okay," he replies, voice small, his stomach full of concrete and his chest tight with anxiety. Why does Casey want him to stay? What is  _ happening? _   
  
"If you wanna try it, we can try it." Donnie's gaze shoots up, and he searches Casey's face for any sign of insincerity. He looks for as long as he can without it becoming weird, but finds no trace.    
  
"We don't -- you don't have to, I wasn't thinking -- " Casey's palm clamps over Donnie's mouth, and he trails off, the rest of his words muffled beyond recognition by Casey's (criminally warm, what the fuck?) hand.   
  
"Dude, just shut up and kiss me."    
  
He wants to. He  _ really _ fucking does. It's all he's been thinking about for weeks -- the way Casey's mouth would feel against his own, the way his hair would feel tangled between Donnie's fingers, how his breath would feel ghosting over Donnie's lips. And now it's happening, or, it's about to, and despite how much he wants it, he finds himself completely frozen, with Casey's hand still clasped over his mouth and his gaze connected with Donnie's in a way it never has been before.    
  
He removes his hand, and Donnie lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He swallows, his mouth dry and his heart in his throat.    
  
"I-I -- I don't -- "    
  
"For fuck's sake," Casey growls, lurching forward, and before Donnie can react, the other boy is inches from his face. His heart pumps erratically in his chest, his gaze locked with Casey's.    
  
"Casey..." he starts.   
  
"This is okay, right?" Casey cuts him off, staring intently into his eyes. Donnie nods minutely, his heart beating impossibly fast, and holy fuck, this is actually going to happen.    
  
He can barely breathe as Casey leans in closer; his air enters his lungs in short, shallow bursts, and his head spins. He forces himself back into the moment; tells himself that he can't float away, he can't panic. Not now.    
  
Casey stops, his lips barely two inches from Donnie's, and Donnie's breath hitches. Has he changed his mind? Has he decided that this is a mistake? Maybe he's right. Maybe it's for the best if they stop before they even start.    
  
But he doesn't pull away. He stays there, two inches of space between his lips and Donnie's, gaze locked with his, and Donnie blinks as he realizes that Casey is waiting for  _ him _ to make the final move, for  _ him _ to close the gap. And it takes a moment for him to work up the guts -- for him to close his eyes and steel his resolve -- before he does.    
  
The first thing Donnie notices is the soft give of Casey's lips. They press in lightly, subtly accepting the pressure of Donnie's mouth, sliding smoothly into place against his lips.    
  
The second thing he notices is just how warm they are. If he thought Casey's hands were warm, he was sorely mistaken, because his lips beat them out by a long shot. They border on being hot, and Donnie pulls away at the sheer surprise of how it all feels.    
  
"You good?" Casey asks, and Donnie stares at him with wide eyes, reaching up shakily and brushing a finger to his bottom lip. His mouth is still warm from where it touched Casey's, and Donnie's face reddens as he lets his hand drop back to his side.   
  
"Was that... was that okay?" he asks quietly, ignoring Casey's question and peering at him expectantly. Casey smirks at him, and Donnie notices the pink that dusts his cheeks. His chest bubbles with something akin to... pride? He's never seen Casey blush, and  _ he's _ the reason it's happened now.    
  
"Why don't ya do it again so I have somethin' to compare it to?" The smug look on his face  _ (fuck, _ how does he look like that?) makes Donnie grin, and he leans back in, with more confidence this time, sealing their lips together once more.    
  


He's kissing Casey. He is  _ kissing Casey, _ and not for the first, but for the  _ second _ time that night. His face burns -- in a good way, for once -- his chest filled with warmth and excitement. This is really, actually, genuinely happening.    
  
Casey's lips are so hot, but Donnie gets used to it fast. He's not about to let a little heat get in the way of something he's wanted this desperately. He quickly grows accustomed to the way Casey's mouth feels, and he revels in the warmth and sensation.    
  
Without thinking, he lifts his hands and rests them softly on Casey's shoulders, tentatively cupping his jaw in his palms. He feels Casey's hand brush against his forearm, a gentle gesture that so starkly defies everything Casey is. And Donnie loves it.    
  
He pulls away slowly, still cradling Casey's face in his hands. Donnie's eyes flit around the other boy's face, taking in everything about his expression, everything about his skin, his eyes, his freckles. Casey is stunning -- though perhaps a bit of an acquired taste, considering the number of teeth he's missing and the old, paint-stained clothes he insists on wearing.    
  
Donnie becomes aware that he's staring, and he blinks himself out of his trance.    
  
"Sorry, I -- " he starts.   
  
"Don't say sorry," Casey interrupts, grinning. "You're sweepin' me off my fuckin’ feet right now, Don." Donnie flushes.   
  
"So I'm doing it right?" he asks, smiling as he realizes the compliment. Casey nods.   
  
"Fuck," he grabs Donnie's cross strap, jerking him in close, smirking, "yes."    
  
Donnie swallows, his heart racing.    
  
"So do you -- ?" Casey's kissing him before he can finish, and he lets his eyes drop closed again as the human takes the lead.    
  
It's not a mistake to let Casey lead, per se, it's just... different from what Donnie has always expected out of a kiss. It's not gentle or romantic. There's no jaw-cupping; no soft caresses. Casey doesn't screw around. He gets down to business. His kiss is fierce, hot, intense -- just like him. Casey's kiss is  _ utterly  _ him, and as much as Donnie loved his brief, soft touches, he finds that he's equally as enraptured in this new sensation.   
  
Casey's mouth moves against Donnie's and oh, fuck,  _ this _ is what making out is supposed to be, isn't it? It's supposed to be hot and heavy; it's supposed to be messy and passionate.

 

He attempts to reciprocate, to respond to Casey's actions with his own, but finds himself quickly becoming lost. He's beyond out of his depth -- the quick peck on the lips he received from April months ago isn't even  _ remotely _ the same as what's happening now.    
  
He has no fucking idea what he's doing, but he gives it his best shot and hopes it isn't terrible.    
  
Casey's runs the flat of his tongue across Donnie's bottom lip, and Donnie inhales sharply through his nose, his hands gripping Casey's shoulders in surprise. He feels Casey's mouth curve into a smile against his, and then Casey's tongue is swiping across his lip again, and  _ fuck,  _ Donnie  _ really _ likes that.    
  
Casey's mouth is so hot; his tongue is so slick and prodding at Donnie's lips, and he lets his jaw drop open a bit to allow Casey further access. Donnie lets his tongue press against his, and at that, he feels a deep rumble start to form in his chest. He swallows it back; he's not about to let his stupid biology ruin this for him.    
  
Casey's arms wrap around his neck, and Donnie feels his warmth press ever closer into him. He lets his hands drop from Casey's shoulders, and in a haze of heat and passion he finds himself gripping the human's hips instead. Casey feels so fragile in his hands, though Donnie knows that he's anything but. His hands are just so large that they nearly wrap around Casey's entire waist, and his heat seeps into his palms through the layers of clothes that separate Donnie's hands from his skin.    
  
He nips gently at Casey's bottom lip, and Casey lets out a short, soft moan -- a sound that makes Donnie's heart leap and his stomach heat. He slips his tongue past Casey's lips, tasting the beer he's been drinking and relishing in the overwhelming warmth of the mouth against his own.    
  
He begins to register the way Casey smells -- the salt of his sweat, the modest scent of his skin. Most prominently, though, he can smell the heady scent of his arousal. He's so close to him, his aroma flooding Donnie's nose and going straight to his groin. He can’t help but feel a small surge of pride that he's gotten Casey turned on, and he grins against the other boy's lips, laughing lightly.   
  
"What?" Casey asks, pulling away, panting. Donnie is breathing heavily too, and the sight of Casey's flushed cheeks and reddened lips only adds to his own arousal as heat drops further into his belly.    
  
"Sorry, it's just -- " His eyes flick to Casey's crotch, then back to his face. "You're hard, and I can smell it, and, um..." Casey’s face reddens, and he coughs awkwardly into his fist.    
  
"Sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.    
  
"No, it's okay!" Donnie exclaims, his face beginning to burn. He's suddenly overcome with lust; with the desire to touch Casey. But he knows they're not there yet -- hell, they've only kissed three times. "I-It's okay, really." He smiles, and Casey smiles back, leaning in and pressing his lips back to Donnie's in a kiss that ends all too quickly.    
  
"We should probably call it a night, Don," he says, hopping out of the hot rod and scooping his half-empty case of beer up in his arms. "It's gettin' late."    
  
"Wait, Casey," Donnie says before he can stop himself. The other boy looks up at him.   
  
"Yeah?" Donnie swallows, blushing, breaking into a small, anxious grin.    
  
"So, um, is this... a thing?" he asks, twiddling his thumbs nervously in his lap. "Like, is this gonna happen again?" Casey smirks at him, shrugging.   
  
"Do ya want it to happen again?"    
  
God yes. God  _ fucking _ yes, he wants it to happen again. It was the most amazing experience of his life -- the heat, the sensation, the passion of it all. The feeling of Casey's tongue in his mouth, and vice versa. But he qualms his excitement.    
  
"I-I think so, yeah," he says, his voice wavering ever so slightly with the enthusiasm he struggles to suppress. What a  _ lie. _ He  _ knows _ so. He knows, more surely than he's known almost anything, that he wants it to happen again. That now that he's had a taste, he won't be able to get by without more.    
  
"Cool," Casey says, sending a finger gun his way. "Because, uh, I do too. So yeah. G'night, Dee." He turns on his heel and walks towards the barn exit, pushing the heavy doors open before stepping out into the night with a final smile and wave.    
  
Once he disappears from sight, Donnie buries his face in his hands and falls into a fit of hysterical giggling, his face burning and his chest fluttering.


End file.
